


Thermodynamics

by Ladybug_21



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Lighthouses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-15 16:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17532548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: It takes Atlanna a while to warm up to Tom Curry.  Literally.





	Thermodynamics

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can’t get over how much I love these two — not gonna lie, I was WAY more invested in their relationship than I was in Arthur and Mera's — and I’m so glad that I finally thought up a story about them that I actually wanted to write! I own no rights to _Aquaman_.

It began with the tea that Tom gave her.

Its flavor was sharp and full and delicious, but what really startled Atlanna was the temperature.  She sipped it down gingerly, afraid to scald her tongue, contemplating this unexpected wonder from the surface as she did so.

"Like it?" Tom asked her anxiously as she drained the mug.

"I've never had anything like it," she told him.  "It's wonderful."

Tom grinned.

"Well, there's plenty more where that came from," he said, taking her mug from her.  "And I can see why you'd need warming up, after last night."

"Warming up?" Atlanna asked as Tom headed back towards the kitchen.  She pushed herself off the couch and to her feet, hissing a bit as the wound in her side made its presence felt.  She wondered vaguely if it would be easier to move without hurting if she were underwater, and then reminded herself that underwater was the last place she wanted to be, after all.

"Yeah."  Tom was putting another kettle of water on the burner.  "You were _freezing_ when I found you out on the rocks.  I would have called a doctor to make sure you didn't have hypothermia, except... well, the storm."

Atlanna frowned pensively.

"Well, you  _look_ like you're doing okay now," Tom assessed as he glanced at Atlanna.  "But if you start feeling woozy or anything, let me know, all right?  I can load you into the truck and get you to town in a few minutes."

"I feel fine, thank you."  Atlanna paused.  "Hypothermia?"

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Where you stay in the water for too long and your body loses too much heat and you die?" he clarified.

Atlanna quirked her head at him, confused.

"I mean, not you specifically," Tom added.  "You clearly weren't in the water for long enough to die.  I think it takes a few hours."

"Well, I've spent my entire life underwater, and yet, here I am," Atlanna laughed.

Tom look at her quizzically, then took the boiling kettle off of the stove and poured Atlanna a fresh mug of tea.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her.

As Atlanna reached out to take the mug, her hand brushed Tom's, and he jumped backwards.  Tea sloshed over its rim onto the floor between them.

"Jesus!"  Tom stared at his hand where Atlanna had touched him, then up at the woman herself, his eyes wary.  "You feel like ice."

"Please, don't be alarmed," Atlanna reassured him.  "My people have lived deep underwater long enough that our ideal body temperature has adjusted to that of the ocean.  It takes time for our temperatures to readjust in warmer climates, so if I feel cold to you, it's simply because my body hasn't registered the temperature here yet.  I feel fine, I promise."

"If you say so."  Tom scratched his head.  "Where did you say you were from, again?"

"Atlantis."

"Atlantis.  As in, _Atlantis_ ,Atlantis?"

Atlanna nodded.

"Okay, then.  Um, do you need help finding a way back?"

Atlanna flinched, ever so subtly, but Tom noticed.

"Well," he said gently, "regardless, feel free to stay here as long as you need, while you heal and rest up."

"And warm up," Atlanna added with a smile.

"And that," Tom agreed.

* * *

The trouble was that there was much more temporal variation throughout the day on the coastline than there was nearly a league under the sea.  Atlanna observed this with a mixture of curiosity and perplexity.  In the mornings, it was crisp and chilly and damp; in the afternoons, it warmed up a bit, although it was still cool in the shade.  Wind was a new phenomenon to the Atlantean, who had only ever experienced it in small doses on sundry trips to the surface, and she was astounded at how much cooler a touch of breeze could make the day.  And when Tom's golden retriever curled up on the couch next to her, invariably one of Atlanna's thighs ended up disproportionately warmed where the dog's head had rested.  Altogether, it meant that her physiology simply didn't register any constant new temperature around her, and, bewildered by the variation, stayed at its subaquatic levels.

"So, how's it going with the weather?" Tom asked her one morning.  Atlanna stood on the balcony that ringed the lantern room of the lighthouse, gazing out at the sea.  She smiled when she saw that Tom had brought a blanket to drape over her shoulders.  By now, he knew that she didn't need it to be comfortable, but she appreciated the gesture, nonetheless.

"I find it very inconsistent," she told him.  "How do you manage?"

"Me?"  Tom shrugged.  "We humans just run at a constant temperature, unless we're sick.  Something like 98.6 degrees, I think.  Fahrenheit, not Celsius, sorry.  Did you grow up using metric or Imperial?"

"Neither," Atlanna shrugged.  "We have our own systems of measurement, which I doubt anyone is planning to change anytime soon."

"Should've guessed."  Tom leaned against the railing of the balcony next to her.  "Can I ask you something?  When I first met you, you said that you were the  _Queen_ of Atlantis.  At the time, I thought you were joking about everything, but I assume by now that you weren't."

Atlanna shook her head.  Beneath the coziness of the blanket that Tom had brought, her blood was beginning to run cold again.

"Well, is it a _problem_ that you're hanging out here with me?"  A moment later, Tom clapped a palm to his forehead.  " _Not_ that I want you to leave, of course — I  _really_ don't want you to leave.  But if you're supposed to be off running a country, then..."

"Atlantis will get by without me," Atlanna said with a soft snort.  "I wouldn't have any actual power if I were still there, anyway."

"Oh."  Tom blinked.  "Is it like a shogunate type of deal?  Where a chief advisor is the real power behind the throne, I mean?"

"Not unless one of my dearest friends has gotten much better at his job since I escaped."  Atlanna smiled grimly.  "And yes, escaped.  I suppose you could call me a political exile, Tom Curry.  I'd much,  _much_ rather be here with you than back watching my realm slip into totalitarianism."

Tom grinned bashfully.

"Well, it's nice having you around.  Surprising, but nice.  You know, I became a lighthouse keeper to get away from everyone.  I've always thought that books and dogs were better company than people, anyway.  But it feels very normal for you to be here."

Atlanna glanced over her shoulder to smile at her host, and the blanket slipped from her arm.  As they both grabbed for the edge of the blanket before it fell, Tom's hand grazed Atlanna's, and the two found themselves face to face, only inches from each other.  Tom stared for a minute, then seemed to shake himself.

"Still pretty icy," he joked.  "Better work on that, Your Highness, or I'll have to submit your name to  _The Guinness Book of World Records_ for coldest recorded internal temperature for a living woman."

"The what?"

"Oh, it's this book where they record every extreme they can find.  Strongest man.  Tallest tree.  Loudest parakeet.  That sort of thing."

For whatever reason, Atlanna found this idea ridiculous, and only after she had had a good chuckle over it did she turn and take Tom's hand intentionally.

"It's Atlanna, by the way," she told him.  "No title for me, above the water.  I escaped so that I could be who I want to be, not who my kingdom wanted me to be."

"I understand."  Tom smiled at her, and he gave her freezing fingers a slight squeeze before letting go.  "Atlanna, then."

Tea warmed Atlanna up from the inside out, but it was always a fleeting sensation, however enjoyable.  The place where Tom Curry's hand had squeezed hers, however, remained warm for hours after.

* * *

The surface remained filled with delightful discoveries for Atlanna.  Chocolate, for one.  Television and movies, for another ("It's about a warrior princess in political exile, like you!" Tom said when he sat her down to watch  _Star Wars_ ).  And the first time Tom lit a fire in the fireplace, Atlanna sat before it for hours, staring captivated at the flickering flames.

"It's so beautiful," she told Tom in a breathless voice, her eyes still fixed on the last embers glowing in the ashes of the dying fire.  "We hear about fire in Atlantis, of course.  But I've never really gotten to watch one before.  It almost looks alive, the way it dances and pulses."

"Well, fire probably has a sort of life of its own," Tom agreed.  "But if it leaps from the fireplace, don't try to pet it, or you'll burn yourself.  You... know what a burn is, right?"

"Of course," Atlanna laughed.  "And believe me, it feels hot enough from a distance."

"Yeah.  But hey, that's not a bad thing, is it?  If the fire's not going to warm you up, then I don't know what will."

For an hour or two, Atlanna thought that Tom must be right — until the memory of the flames faded and her entire body filled with the chill of the deep sea once again.

She still hadn't ventured over to the town yet.  It wasn't that she lacked curiosity; she was genuinely interested in seeing how other surface-dwellers behaved, especially in comparison to Tom.  But Atlanna had found an unexpected tranquility here on this spit of land on the rugged coastline, and she wanted to preserve the sanctity of that sensation for as long as it lasted.  She worried less and less about being found, as the days passed and she became more and more engrossed in the brave new world around her.  Here, she didn't have to concern herself with fulfilling responsibilities and living up to expectations.  Here, she felt surprisingly secure and content with life.  Her entire world had narrowed from a vast ocean realm to the immediate environs of Tom's lighthouse, and somehow the latter space felt vastly more liberating.

Tom was right.  It did feel normal for Atlanna to be here.  This small corner of the surface fit her, and she fit it.

(Except for her body temperature.  That still remained elusively Atlantean.)

In the end, Tom was the one who gently talked Atlanna into going into town with him.

"Just because you've never seen it," he argued.  "It would be fun.  Maybe we could have a nice dinner together, or something?"

Atlanna smiled at how shy Tom suddenly sounded.

"That would be wonderful," she said.

As a lighthouse keeper, Tom didn't have much in the way of fine apparel, but he located his only suit in the back of his closet and carefully ironed it in preparation.  His sister had left a few boxes of clothes with him when she ran off to Oregon with that good-for-nothing boyfriend; thankfully, Atlanna was virtually the same size and had been making use of whatever items she liked.  But Tom still didn't expect her to find anything at all formal mixed into the jumble of shirts and jeans.

"Wow," he said as Atlanna emerged from the bathroom.  She wore what must have once served as a floor-length, navy blue prom dress, but the Atlantean managed to make the style look far more sophisticated than any high-schooler ever had.  "You look incredible."

Atlanna's cheeks turned very slightly pink.

"So do you," she told Tom, and he offered her his arm gallantly.

Tom felt a little bit silly driving to town in his old truck when he and Atlanna were both so dressed up, but that was the only option he had.  Besides, as soon as they reached civilization proper, he stopped worrying about looking out of place, because Atlanna was gazing out of the truck window at the little buildings and tidy streets and shops and crosswalks with absolute wonder, and how could he be concerned about anything else when she was clearly so enraptured?

He parked around the corner from the only remotely nice restaurant in town, and opened Atlanna's door for her so that he could help her out.

"It's all so lovely," she told him as she climbed out of the car and turned slowly to take in her surroundings.

Tom, smiling, pulled a coat out from the back seat of the truck.

"Just for show," he told her with a wink.  "People will be staring at you enough because you're not a local.  There's no point in making them also wonder why you're walking around at dusk with bare arms, on an evening as chilly as this."

Atlanna gamely pulled the coat on, shooting a conspiratorial smile at Tom as she did so.

Even though Atlanna still wasn't accustomed to cooked fish, she still thought that dinner was marvelous.  The restaurant had placed little candles on the table tops, and she smiled every time the quivering flame of their table's candle caught her eye.  After dinner, Tom helped her back into her coat, and the two walked along the pier, gazing out over the reflection of the moonlight on the crests of the waves.

"Do you think you might go back, one day?" Tom asked her suddenly.  "If political circumstances change?"

"Maybe," she answered.  "I don't know."

It wasn't the answer that Atlanna had expected to give, and after a moment's reflection, she realized why.

"I was raised to put my nation before myself, always," she explained to Tom.  "So a part of me will probably always feel bound to return to Atlantis.  But the truth is that I really have no desire to go back.  And it's not just out of hatred and fear of what drove me away.  It's because I've fallen in love with all of this, with everything that I've seen and experienced here on the surface.  I can't imagine ever leaving it."

Atlanna had stopped on the pier, and Tom stopped beside her.

"I want to belong here, Tom," she told him.  "I feel safer and happier here than I have in years.  I want the surface to be my home."

Tom tentatively put a hand on Atlanna's shoulder.

"And it can be," he assured her gently.  "At the very least, my door will always be open as a home for you, wherever I am."

Atlanna smiled as a tear snaked its way down her cheek.   _Another difference_ , she reflected,  _to be able to actually feel my tears._

"Can you remind me what the average human body temperature is?" she asked Tom quietly.

"Oh, like I said, I think it's 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit?  Which is something like 37 degrees Celsius?"

"Yes, but I'm not a thermometer, Tom," laughed Atlanna, and she stepped into his embrace.

She knew that the air was chilly that night, knew that the breeze off the ocean only made the cold nip more sharply.  But Tom didn't back away from the freezing woman wrapped in his arms.  He held her tight to him, minute after minute, his cheek pressed against hers, his heart beating quicker than usual as he felt her own heartbeat against his chest.  And slowly, ever so slowly, Atlanna felt even the deepest and most honor-bound parts of her begin to thaw.

"You're heating up," Tom whispered, and his breath was a warm tickle against her ear.

"I am," Atlanna agreed.  "You're even better at this than tea."

Tom laughed, and when he finally kissed her, out on the pier beneath the moonlight, Atlanna was fairly certain that she would never cool again.

Of course, she still had her moments.  A few nights later, she made the mistake of trying to tell Tom about Atlantis and why she had left, and the instant she began speaking, the cold began to seep back in.  Tom, whose limbs were entangled with hers, did not appreciate her sudden change of temperature and quickly distracted Atlanna in a manner that made her warm back up instantly.

"Don't think about it," he recommended afterwards.  "Not right now.  Tell me when its hold isn't so strong anymore, when you can talk about it without feeling like it's about to drag you back in."

Atlanna couldn't imagine anything more removed from her previous life than lying in Tom's arms, drowsy and cozy and blissfully happy.  But a few months later, she began to feel her stomach swell and tauten, and suddenly Atlantis could have been nothing more than a myth, for all Atlanna cared.  She was carrying a child.  Tom's child.  The universe could not have seemed more perfectly made for them and them alone.

A month before the baby arrived, Atlanna finally told Tom everything in a calm and steady voice, cuddled against his side with her hand resting protectively over their unborn child.  Tom kept one arm wrapped tightly around her the entire time.  And although Atlanna felt just a tingle of chill in her toes, the rest of her remained warm and stubbornly tethered to the human world that she had chosen.

 _Maybe this means that I'm finally free_ , she wondered.

And when she held her newborn son in her arms for the first time, she let that wonder turn to hope.

* * *

By the time the commandos arrived, it had been years since Atlanna had exhibited what Tom jokingly called "just a little cold."  She told Arthur all of the old legends of Atlantis without so much as a frisson of chill intruding, confident as she now was that her world was the surface, not the depths of the oceans.  Surely, the way that her lighthouse keeper's eyes lit up whenever he saw her was evidence of that?  Surely, the tousle-headed child laughing on her lap proved that this was where she belonged?

And yet the commandos came; and the instant that Tom tossed her the trident that served as her last remaining connection to her kingdom, the chill of the Atlantic Ocean coursed through her veins.  She fought without thinking, instinctively defending and attacking, just as Vulko had trained her in another life.  And when it was all over, she stood in the middle of their destroyed living room, staring in horror at Tom and Arthur, terrified at how close she had just come to losing them both.  Her clenched fingers were as cold as ice.

"Atlanna," Tom murmured, rushing forward as Atlanna's knees gave way slightly and she half-collapsed onto the sofa.  He sat down next to her and kissed her, then drew back sharply.

"You're freezing," he gasped, realization dawning across his face.

Atlanna nodded, tears filling her eyes.

"I have to go back," she whispered.

Arthur began fussing within Tom's steady grasp, and when Atlanna reached out to comfort her son, he instead burst into tears at her icy touch.

Tom begged Atlanna not to leave.  He insisted that Arthur needed her, that he didn't know how to raise a child all on his own.  Atlanna assured Tom gently that he would undoubtedly raise Arthur to be the man they had both always dreamed that he would be.  She knew that Tom understood the danger that her remaining posed; knew that Orvax's men wouldn't hesitate to kill both Tom and Arthur, if they were discovered when Atlantis inevitably caught up to her.  The cold in her veins seemed to intensify whenever she considered how easily Orvax could destroy her precious family, without so much as batting an eyelash in remorse.  She was terrified to return, more terrified than she could ever bear to admit to Tom; but Atlanna would suffer humiliation and abuse and even death a hundred times over for the sake of those she loved.  There simply was no choice.

The electrical wiring had been partially knocked out along with the walls of the house, so they lit candles to light their last supper together, not saying much at all because there was altogether too much to say.  Arthur burbled happily all through dinner, seemingly having forgotten the dramatic attack on their home earlier that day, now that his parents were back to their normal routine.  He nodded off while Atlanna and Tom washed and dried dishes side by side with their shoulders touching, and once they had tucked Arthur into his little bed, the two retreated to their own room and made love with a sort of passionate desperation.  They quietly held each other in the hours that followed, willing time to stop, wishing that dawn would never come.  Atlanna's skin was tepid to the touch, and the menace of Atlantis that was lodged in her psyche radiated cold through her core, draining the heat from her moment by moment, no matter how close Tom pressed her to him.

All too soon, the eastern sky began to glow softly over the surface of the ocean.  Atlanna silently dressed in the Atlantean garb in which Tom had found her all those years ago.  She walked quietly through the house, running her fingers over the surfaces of the sofa and the stairway bannisters and the mugs in which she drank her tea every morning.  Then she retrieved Arthur from his bed and walked out towards the dock.  Tom, following in her wake, felt nothing but a numbness that made everything before him seem as disconnected as a dream.  Long after Atlanna had placed Arthur into his arms with a promise and thrown herself back into the embrace of the ocean, Tom still had trouble believing that she was actually gone.  The best evidence that his grieving mind could summon was tactile: When Atlanna had kissed him before she left the surface forever, her lips had been as cold as ice against his.

* * *

It was always chilly at daybreak, when Tom made his daily pilgrimage to the end of the dock.  That felt right.  In most of his life, he had to carry on as if everything was fine, but these solitary moments on the dock were when he allowed himself to acknowledge his own loss and be broken.  The waves lapped and crashed and hissed against the tumbled rocks of the coast; the seagulls overhead seemed to cry to him,  _Not yet, not yet, not yet_.  And of course Atlanna was never there waiting for him, although Tom liked to imagine that she was thinking of him from her palace below the waves.

He worried about her.  From the way she had described Orvax, it sounded as if he had plenty to worry about.  Atlanna had been confident that Orvax wouldn't kill her, but even so, Tom wondered every day if Atlanna could possibly have found some measure of happiness, living out her life beside a man she so clearly loathed.  He certainly hoped that she had.  (At the same time, the thought of another man making Atlanna happy drove Tom so insanely jealous that he stood on the dock fighting back tears some days, furious that his human body was too weak to dive below the waves and go intervene as necessary.)

Meanwhile, Arthur grew up curious and mischievous, the absolute light and joy of his father's life.  Tom found it almost impossible to deny his son anything, although there were a few exceptions — notwithstanding Arthur's love for Sebastian the Crab, Tom refused to buy him the VHS of  _The Little Mermaid_ for a solid two months, before finally caving and simply leaving the room whenever Ariel sang "Part of Your World."  He told Arthur all of the old legends of Atlantis that he had heard Atlanna recite over and over, but not until the incident at the aquarium did he decide that Arthur was ready to be told everything about who his mother was.

"Whoa," said Arthur when Tom had finished.  "Wait, so Mom has her own kingdom?  Can I go visit?  Do I get to be king one day?"

Tom laughed sadly and enveloped his son in a bear hug.

"It's probably best if you don't go visit," he said.  "And I'm sorry to say that you probably don't get to be king, even if Mom is a queen.  That's my fault, for not being a prince or even an Atlantean."

"Oh.  Well, that's okay."  Arthur shrugged.  "It's not your fault that the rules are dumb."

And Tom suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath slightly, out of fear that the allure of Atlantis would pull Arthur away from him, as well.

His fear only compounded when Vulko began appearing to tutor Atlanna's son in the ways of Atlantis.  The first time the advisor took Arthur swimming, Arthur returned home dripping wet and practically bursting with excitement.

"It's SO COOL, Dad!" he shouted from the living room as Tom fetched a towel for him.  "I can swim so fast!  Like, faster than people in the Olympics!  I could break all of their records without even trying!"

"Is that so," Tom replied.  When Arthur took the towel, his arm brushed against Tom's, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief.  Arthur's body temperature was still warm.  In spite of everything that he had learned from Vulko that day, his boy still felt that he truly belonged here on the surface, with his obscure human father.

For a few years, Tom remained at ease with the status quo, even if not entirely comfortable.  At least when he raved to Tom about the lessons that Vulko was giving him, Arthur never seemed to have any interest in relocating to the bottom of the ocean for good.  Maybe this whole arrangement was for the best, Tom reflected, as Arthur detailed the art of trident dueling one evening in the same living room where Atlanna's skill with a trident had once saved both their lives.

But then, one day, Arthur came home so shaken that Tom could tell that something was wrong simply from how Arthur opened the door.

"She's dead," Arthur said in a voice tight from recent tears.  "Vulko said that they found out about me, and they killed her for it."

Tom stared at his son.  It felt as though his entire body was rapidly crumbling away beneath the convenient façade of his exterior.

"That can't be true," he said numbly.

"Why would Vulko lie to me?" Arthur insisted.

Tom took a slow step towards Arthur, intending to comfort his son, but Arthur pushed away the hand that Tom reached out to him.  The boy's palm was hot and clammy from being clenched into an angry fist.

"Leave me alone!" Arthur raged, and he dashed upstairs to his room.

Tom sighed and decided to give his son a little time to cool down, figuratively.  Out of habit, he walked out to the end of the dock and stood there, trying to comprehend what Arthur had told him.  For a terrible moment, Tom was racked with overwhelming guilt as he considered that he was responsible for the execution of the woman he loved — after all, if Atlanna had never borne his son, then she would still be alive.  But he also knew that Atlanna would never have felt ashamed for the love they had shared and the perfect child it had produced.  Tom stared out over the waves, as he had daily since Atlanna had left a decade earlier.  Such a simple concept, death.  And yet Tom still couldn't really believe what Vulko had told Arthur.  Tom could no longer imagine a world in which Atlanna did not exist _somewhere_.  He had lived all these years without her by his side, trusting that she was still out there and that she still loved him.  Could it really mean that he would ever love her less, just because he now knew that he would never hold her again in his arms?

Arthur was angry at first, when Tom kept rising early every morning to walk to the end of the dock at sunrise.

"She's never coming back, Dad," he shouted as his father made toast for breakfast one morning.  "Stop pretending that she will.  It only makes things worse."

"Look," Tom sighed, "I'm never going to stop loving your mom, no matter what happened.  Just let me have a few moments with her memory every morning, can't you?"

"It just seems like a bad idea to obsess," Arthur grumbled.  "Like it could drive you crazy."

Tom reached out and gently punched Arthur in the arm.

"I won't go crazy," he promised.  "I've got you to keep me tethered to reality."

Arthur bit his tongue, and over time, the pain of their shared loss gradually subsided.  For a few years, Tom thought that the way to move on with life was to date other women, but he quickly realized that he would rather wake up with Atlanna's side of the bed cold and empty, than occupied by someone else.  Being perpetually single was infinitely easier than trying to pretend that anyone else could take Atlanna's place.

"You sure you'll be okay when I leave?" Arthur asked, the night before he moved out of Tom's house.

"Trust me, I took this job at this lighthouse to get away from the rest of the world," Tom laughed.  "You and your mom just happened to be an unexpected detour from my plans to be happily alone forever.  I'll be just fine, as long as you promise to come back and visit once in a while."

"Yeah, of course I promise," Arthur said gently.  He reached out and clapped a solid hand on Tom's shoulder, and Tom appreciated its weight and its comforting warmth.  "Are you still gonna go out and wait for her every morning, once I'm gone?"

"What do you think?" Tom answered.

Arthur shrugged slightly, one corner of his mouth turned up.

"I know it doesn't make sense to you," Tom said.  "But the thing is, I still have to hope that your mom is still alive.  She's a fighter, Arthur, just like you are.  I met her when she had just successfully escaped from Atlantis, against all odds.  I've seen her easily destroy an entire elite Atlantean commando squad, all on her own and armed with only a trident.  If there were ever a person to stare death in the face and come out of the experience alive, it's her.  And even if Vulko is right, and she's gone forever... well, I'm not a lighthouse keeper for nothing.  It's my job to help guide people safely home, to keep the light shining even when I don't know if there's even a ship out there to see it."

Arthur left home the next morning, but, true to his word, he burst back into Tom's quiet life every few months and filled his visits with rambunctiousness and laughter.  Otherwise, Tom settled into an understated and mostly unstructured existence — his duties around the lighthouse, a weekly trip to the grocery store in town, long afternoons spent reading.  The only ritual that he followed faithfully was his morning walk to the end of the dock.

"You would be so proud of him," Tom whispered into the salty wind, the morning after Arthur departed from his most recent visit home.  The lighthouse keeper's voice dissipated on the chilly morning breeze and was drowned in the crash of the waves on the rocks.

* * *

And then, one day, when Tom stepped outside, a familiar silhouette was waiting for him at the end of the dock.

For a moment, Tom couldn't believe his eyes.  Then he began running, his heart pounding within his chest.  

 _She came back_ , he thought to himself wildly, wondering if he was dreaming, praying that he wasn't, not caring if he was.  He had clung to only the thinnest strand of hope for so long that the realization of that same hope seemed impossible, far too good to be true.  The instant before they touched, he was gripped with the sudden fear that her body would be as icy as it was when they had parted — that she had returned to him only to say yet another goodbye.

Tom shouldn't have worried.  Through all of her long years of captivity, Atlanna had cherished her memories of the warmth of his arms.  Now, finally free of her past, she rushed into the embrace of her beloved lighthouse keeper.  And her touch was as warm as if she had never left.


End file.
